The Maiden of War

NSFW warning: This story contains graphic depictions of sex as well as bloody violence.

It was the strange sounds that roused the man from his slumber. The snuffling of inquisitive noses as well as the soft crunching of careful footsteps in fresh fallen snow. Through small spaces in the walls of his cabin, the light of the full moon shone but every now and then one of these meager sources of light would go dark for but a moment as some hulking form passed.

Beside him, the soft form of his woman shivered, her heated flesh moving against him for greater warmth, and somewhere beyond the foot of their bed one of their brats whimpered in their sleep.

With a large paw of a hand, the man grasped his woman’s shoulder and shook her gently to wakefulness. She came to consciousness fully alert, tuned into his body language so well that she knew immediately some danger was afoot. She too took note of the movements and sounds beyond their cabin and she looked to him with blue eyes filled with apprehension.

Without replying in any verbal way, the man hefted his broad, muscular form from their bed, stripping away the pile of furs that kept them warm, allowing the cold night air to kiss his naked flesh.

Now the children too picked up on his movement and roused themselves as well. With practiced movements, they crept as one to their parent’s bed and huddled behind the form of their mother who had also slipped free of the confining furs to stand fully nude, her gaze following her man’s movements carefully.

He moved with calm purpose, pulling on fur lined boots and thick, rough wool trousers. Next came the jerkin of thickly padded cloth about his massive shoulders, and the leather-covered steel helm popular among his people was placed upon his braided blonde head.

Last of all, he took up the long-handled battle-axe of his father. Grasping it firmly in his hand, he breathed deep the frozen air and his woman took this as her cue. With the grace of a snow leopard she slipped her simple blue woolen dress over her head, careful to keep the bodice unlaced to accept his mark before battle. She motioned for the babes to hide beneath the mountain of furs, then moved to join her man near the door to their home where he stood ready to face whatever evil had come knocking.

Quickly, she knelt before him and unfastened his trousers, freeing his fast-hardening phallus, she pumped its length with long strokes. It was known among their people that a man should not go into battle unpleasured by his woman lest the lust of bloodshed cause him to stray from his loyalty to her.

Taking him into her mouth she pushed the meat of his rod deep into her throat as she had been taught to do as a young woman before beginning the rapid bobbing that would grant him release. For his part, her man did not touch her while she performed her duty, knowing that any interruption or guidance by him would ruin the ritual. Rather, he stood rigid, one hand gripping the haft of his axe, the other balled into a fist.

He grunted as he came and she pulled his pulsating phallus from her mouth so that his seed could spill freely on her chest and heavy breasts. With two fingers she traced ruins in his heated blessing, then rose and strode to take her place before their bed, drawing as she did the thick-bladed sword they had stashed beneath the straw mattress.The man took his large round shield from where it hung on the wall and readied himself. 

The snuffling without had grown to low yips and growls of anticipation and in reply he banged his axe upon his shield and shouted a warcry. There came a long howl from beyond the door and he grinned despite himself. Banging his axe once more, he shouldered his way through the door and out into the night beyond.

The cabin in which the man and woman resided was a remote one, and the man knew, stepping boldly out onto the snow, that no aid would come for them as he faced down his adversaries, the Wolves of War.

Each one of the three creatures that now opposed him was taller than a man, their lupine bodies covered in matted black fur, their slathering jowls pulled back in hungry snarls, their red tongues lolling in anticipation.

The man advanced on them as they hunkered together, yellow eyes watching him closely, when out of the corner of his eye he spied her, a woman in a black dress flitting among the trunks of skeletal trees slightly to the right of the wolves. If he sought to focus on her, she vanished, but if his gaze remained on the wolves she was there on the periphery, veil obscuring her features and a trail of blood following in her wake.

It was then the wolves charged and the man lifted his shield to meet them, axe at the ready. They collided in a loud crash that echoed throughout the moon-kissed wood, his shield halting the charge of the first beast, its claws gouging the hardwood surface. The second was met with his axe that bit deeply into its shoulder sending a crimson plume onto the untouched snow about them. The third skirted him and scrambled for his cabin. The man roared at this and pushed the wolf on his shield back, pulling his blade free to hack at the initial attacker. The one who had received the bite of his axe crumpled somewhat, its lifesblood pumping out onto the snow, but with the last vestiges of its life it lunged forward and fixed his jaws onto the meat of the man’s ankle.

A cry escaped from the man as the wolves’ jaws clamped down and he hacked down instinctively, burying the entire head of his axe in its skull.

The woman in black drifted closer as he struggled to dislodge his axe and, being unable to, abandoned it to grasp his shield with both hands and begin slamming the second wolf back. He saw her over the wolves’ shaggy shoulder remove her veil to reveal the face of a young woman with ivory-white skin untouched by any blemish. Her eyes blazed crimson and, when their gazes locked he felt a fire fill him, even as the wolf he was pushing back reached over his shield to begin raking his back with its claws.

Roaring anew, the warrior threw his shield wide and kicked savagely, catching his adversary directly in its chest and sending it sprawling. He glimpsed the woman spreading her arms for him, blood running from her outstretched hands, before he ran back towards his cabin.

Barreling through the doorway he beheld a scene of purest carnage. His woman lay with her throat torn open upon the floor, and the bodies of their children were ripped asunder along with the furs under which they had hid. The wolf that had assaulted them lay among them, his woman’s sword protruding from its ruined chest.

The scrambling sound of claws on floorboards behind him alerted the man to the entrance of the last creature and he bounded forward, grasping the hilt of his woman’s blade with both hands.

Claws bit deeply into his back as he wrenched the sword free in a fountain of crimson and whirled, hacking savagely, taking the sole surviving wolves’ arm off at the elbow. It howled in pain and he charged in, burying the sword in its gullet, the force of his run taking them back out into the snow outside. 

They fell together beside its comrade with his axe in its head and a vicious struggle ensued. They hacked and slashed at one another with abandon, their life’s blood painting the area about them as an artist would a blank canvas. Finally the beast fell limp, its ruined body unable to support its life and the man leaned heavily upon the pommel of his blade, buried as it was in the beast’s throat.

He stayed that way for a time, his breath coming in ragged gasps and misting in the air in front of his face before he became aware that someone stood before him, above both him and the bodies of his foes.

Pulling himself up slightly, he looked up into the fierce gaze of the woman in black, her arms still outstretched as if welcoming him to embrace her. As he watched her, his eyesight blurring slightly as his life ebbed, she brought her blood-soaked hands back to the front of her dress. With slow movements she opened the garment to reveal a thin, somewhat emaciated body with wide hips, protruding ribs, and small breasts, though ones clearly heavy with milk. So much so, a small amount could even be seen dripping from the tip of one nipple.

She knelt then and reached for him, her blood-stained fingertips brushing his bearded cheek, she guided his mouth to her offered breast. Unresisting, the warrior eagerly suckled the offered gift, drinking the thick, hot milk held therein. As he suckled, he could feel the wounds of his body begin to heal, the flesh knitting back together in a fashion most painful, though invigorating in a way most primal.

When he had finished, the woman stood and strode past him. Still gasping from his feast, the man watched her come to stand beside his cabin and, raising a hand, place it on the doorframe. Immediately the wood blackened and flames spread, consuming the entirety of the structure in moments as she sauntered back towards him. Her gaze bore into his and he understood, he served her now, the Maiden of War, and he would follow where she led.  

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